


The Metal Man

by Mr_Purple



Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Jewish Character, Holocaust Mention, M/M, Morality, Suicide Attempt, Survivor Guilt, Theology, Work Contains Fan(s) or Fandom(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:13:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4786862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Purple/pseuds/Mr_Purple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik Lehnsherr died alone on April 16, 1963. The end. Until it wasn't. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>(Inspired by the game The Cat Lady)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Metal Man

**Author's Note:**

> Currently unbeta'ed and testing the fanfiction waters. Other than dealing with romancing this fic will also be an attempted study of character, theology, and morality.

The viscose tichel unfurled beautifully. Erik Lehnsherr watched passively, for a moment it rode the downward momentum of his hands its end curled up into the air. Then slowly it alighted back down onto the edge of the round dining table. Ensnared cherry wood in paisley flowers, Erik smoothed out the soft blues and violets where they lay dangling off the edge, minutely swaying back and forth.

The deep throaty chimes of the hour rang out, they shattered the silence that rested a well-placed cloth over the apartment.

_Drong, Drong, Drong_

Erik’s hands stopped where they rested on the fabric, they curled into tight fists and brought the cloth back up again.

A paper that had been resting beneath the tichel fluttered off the edge of the table, pulled off and away it landed in front of the great grandfather clock.

Dilute blue eyes blinked and Erik stood up, he tossed the tichel back onto to its wooden perch and stalked towards the paper. He bent down and picked it up, a small smile curled up the corner of his lips, and it never reached his eyes.

Erik looked forward at the clock’s pendulum every thrumming sweep the single loudest noise in the world, the nine brass tubes in its belly sang to him. Erik stood up and watched the clock’s face, the note now held in his right hand, “Don’t worry I haven’t forgotten.”

The clock simply ticked in return.

_Tick_

Erik returned to his chair.

_Tock_

Erik nestled the note in between the two candlesticks at the center.

_Tick_

Erik sat back in the chair, he jutted his chin and pretended to slump backwards for a second.

_Tock_

The back of the chair just tall enough to catch and cradle his limp head.

_Tick_

Erik straightened back up, hooked a foot around one leg of the chair, and scooted it closer to the round dining table.

_Tock_

He grabbed the shear scarf by both corners and began to twist it, it was just long enough.

_Tick_

Erik wrapped the scarf around his neck.

_Tock_

One knot.

_Tick_

Erik grabbed one of the candlesticks, nickel-plated, the chalice styled resting place of the candle's slim stem lent it an almost uniform shape.

_Tock_

He knocked the wax off the top of the candlestick without hesitation, and fed it through the knotted loop of the scarf.

_Tick_

Erik paused, he held the candlestick steadily with his right hand the knot wrapped threateningly around the candlestick’s middle, and the metal in his apartment vibrated the very pipes protested.

_Tock_

Both hands grabbed the candlestick, top and bottom; he twisted once.

_Tick_

Twice.

_Tock_

Erik grabbed for the letter one hand still on the candlestick, the world slipped and slid about, the grandfather clock’s face watched his desperate struggle.

_Dring, dring, dring, driiing_

Erik fell backwards, then sideways out of the chair, now prostrate; the candlestick twisted just a little bit more.

The note still clasped in his hand Erik fell feet towards his chair, and head rested at the foot of the oak wood clock. The pendulum thrummed louder and louder the chimes of the first quarter of the hour still rang out of time, out of sync.

_DRING, DRING, DRING, DRIIIIING_

Louder, louder, and louder the grandfather clock chimed Erik into the next.


End file.
